Loss of Consequence
by Spotted One
Summary: With every choice there are consequences, some good and then there are others.


Quick disclaimer: I don't own the Newsies, but I'm willing to take up a collection if anyone wants to join in on the purchase??? This is just another one-shot from my bizarre little mind, must be the chemo hitting me with these ideas.  
  
Thanks to Sparker for reading and for the encouragement to post!! You're the best, even if you didn't tell me you updated Angie!!  
  
Also thanks to Shortie for the read-through! Good luck with the audition!  
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He did not have much to unpack, but since Mrs. Jacobs cleared out the drawers, Jack felt obligated to fill the empty space. Empty space, it was a metaphor for all his life became. No longer able to live in the lodging house on Duane Street, he was relieved when Davey talked his parents into opening their home to him.  
  
Mayer found him a hero, partially due to his strike role, mostly because he had taken the Jacob's children under his wing, teaching them everything they needed to know not only about selling, but also of the dangers of the streets, how to avoid them. Persuading him had not taken many of David's fancy words or Les' puppy dog pouts. Jack stood in the hallway outside the apartment pacing nervously as the children inside negotiated with their parents. The biggest hurtle facing them was in convincing Esther to having Jack under the same roof as Sarah.  
  
"Mama, Jack will be sharing the room with Les and me at night and during the day we will all be out selling while Sarah is at work. The only real difference is that Jack will be sleeping here."  
  
It took ten minutes of discussing, pleading, begging on Jack's behalf and listening, objecting, finally relenting on the part of Esther to reach a decision. Jack would share a room with David while Les moved out of the bedroom and onto Sarah's floor.  
  
After filling two drawers in David's dresser with his meager possessions, Jack lay down on the bed falling into a fit-filled sleep until awakened by a visitor. Spot brought some clothing his boys had thrown together, trying to help as much as Brooklyn felt comfortable. Spot felt suffocated as he stepped over the threshold into the bedroom, his stride a bit less cocky than the day before, the snide little smile gone from his face.  
  
Needing a bit of fresh air, the shorter boy led the way climbing out the window onto the fire escape, settling own onto a step above where Jack sat. Spot looked down at the street below, searching for anything to keep from looking in Cowboy's eyes. Agonizing sadness, pain replaced the normally deep, intense hazel puddles. Fearing all that hurt and sorrow might transfer to him if he allowed their eyes to meet.  
  
"Jack, I."  
  
"Spot, don't, there ain't nothin' more ta say."  
  
These words lifted a heavy weight from both the boys' minds. Spot did not know what to say, Jack did not know how to listen. Not listening is what landed him in his present situation.  
  
***Jack had been sleeping peacefully until jolted awake by Snipeshooter's screaming. Orange flames surrounded the younger boys bunk as fire separated the majority of the residents from the stairs. Jack ran down, woke Kloppman, grabbing the kitchen fire extinguisher and a few buckets before returning to the second floor.***  
  
Shaking the thoughts from his mind, Jack silently stepped up to the window placing his usual sixty cents on the counter. Behind the barred window, the old man gestured to the boy next to him. Counting out one hundred papers, the freckled-faced redhead pushed them out to Jack without a word.  
  
Lowering himself down to sit, Jack opened the paper searching for a headline worthy of selling. Not really needing to look, for he knew walking over, reading the headlines on the bulletin board across from The World's distribution center, he knew. Once David and Les bought their hundred each, the trio set off to sell.  
  
***Shouting to Mush, Jack threw the fire extinguisher through the flames en route to fill buckets, to soak sheets and towels. Racetrack, the only other resident of the second floor not trapped, took the first soaked blanket, wrapped it around his body and plunged into the blazing heat in attempt to help those caught on the far side of the room.***  
  
Walking through Central Park, the boys sold all three hundred papers in little more than two hours. Selling a day's papes had never been easier. Jack found patrons seeking them out for a change.  
  
***Bumlets tried to open the window, but it was swelled shut from the rapid change in temperature in the room and the newly started cold drizzle striking from the outside. Using his right foot, he kicked through the glass, attempting to lead all the boys out safely and down the fire escape.***  
  
As they walked back to the Jacob's apartment, Jack felt an invisible hand pull him in the direction Duane Street. Before he knew it, he was standing where the building used to be, tears streaking his cheeks. At seventeen questioning authority is natural, but every choice has a consequence. Learning this lesson came with great sacrifice. If only he had listened, Kloppman strictly forbid firecrackers in the house.  
  
Lighting in the room was only the beginning of the mistake. While fully intending to toss it out of the window, fate took control causing it to land in a pile of clothes. Picking the firecracker off the laundry, Racetrack pitched it out the widow before the explosion. Nothing followed the action, no POP!, no BANG!, no BOOM!, it was a dud. After a hard days worth of selling, it was easy enough to forget the pile of clothes, climbing into bed for the night.  
  
The figure behind him watched as Jack's shoulders shook. He doubted the boy cared if anyone saw his expression of grief. As if in answer to his question, Jack kneeled to the ground head in his hands.  
  
Only able to watch the hunched over boy for a minute before crossing the street, the man stepped up beside him. Seeing his newly polished shoes stop next to him, Jack quickly wiped his face and stood. Denton reached out and placed his hand on Jack's still quivering shoulder causing the story to pour forth. Careful to leave out the part about his foolishness causing the fire, he recalled the events.  
  
When Jack dropped the stick, a small spark caught fire to Blink's pants, no one noticed as they threw more clothes to the pile in preparation for bed causing partial suffocation, but adding fuel. Ten minutes after lights out, the fire was in full blaze having caught the full line of clothes, working across the floor cutting off most of the room from the main exit.  
  
"They tried to climb out the window, but Crutchy was havin' a rough time of it, the fire kept getting higher and hotter."  
  
Jack went on describing how the boys trapped on the side of the room away from the stairs stumbled, tripped and fell over each other as the inferno grew. Before he could run over to try to help them, Kloppman grabbed and pushed him down the stairs in attempt to save his and Jack's lives.  
  
"Hearing them call out was the hardest part. I'll hear those voices in my dreams for the rest of my life." 


End file.
